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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29992992">Paint Your Colors Over Mine</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowydot/pseuds/snowydot'>snowydot</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Pitch Perfect (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ballet, F/F, Mostly Fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:48:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,292</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29992992</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowydot/pseuds/snowydot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Chloe is used to the colors, and she knows they will never leave. It hadn’t occurred to her that, for Beca, they weren’t really there.</p><p> <br/>Ballerina!Chloe Photographer!Beca</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>141</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Paint Your Colors Over Mine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>*”Giselle” is a real ballet.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s complicated to hear you’re different. The sentence is powerful and at the same time extremely vague, because everyone is different. Some of those differences are physical, but after twenty four years of walking this Earth, Chloe can affirm the most important ones are within people’s minds. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She was six when she was told she was different. It wasn’t a strange word to her ears, but the way it was spoken brought a whole new meaning to it. The acknowledgment that people could be intellectually different too, just like her eyes are blue and her dad’s are green. Different colors, same function. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe was told she sees the world differently. But it’s okay. Everybody does.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Right now, though, there’s nothing to see. Nothing but darkness as Chloe keeps her eyes shut, the sound of her breathing louder than the music playing in the club behind her. She takes a sip of her drink—something containing pineapple, mint and alcohol, </span> <span class="s2"> <em>lots</em> </span> <span class="s1"> of alcohol—and opens her eyes. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The music is suddenly loud again and the flashes of the club’s light dance on the surface of the lake in front of her. Chloe turns, facing the crowd that weirdly looks like is moving in slow motion as people dance in the external area of the club. In a white flash they appear, rapidly moving, twirling. Then the light goes out for less than a single second, only enough for Chloe to inhale, and everyone reappears. She feels dizzy, even though she’s not even tipsy yet. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s been only half an hour since she’s arrived and Chloe already feels the urge to leave. Clubs aren’t really her thing. Chloe loves a good low key bar with some live music and people calmly dancing on the dance floor, their bodies looking like they’re floating around, just existing around each other. The club she’s at right now is wild and messy. People look like they’re being electrified as they clumsily jump and bump against each other, and although Chloe is aware that’s just the happiness of forgetting their personal issues and living in the moment, the amount of colors makes her mind feel like exploding. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Of course she’s used to it by now. The colors will never leave and Chloe knows it, but most times she’s not sure if the weird condition she was born with is a blessing or a curse. The colors make her dance perfectly, but they also bring the truth, like a sixth sense she’s never asked for. It’s not always fun to be able to read people so well, to just know whenever they’re happy, or sad, or angry; Chloe feels overwhelmed, most times. It’s like she knows a secret she’s not allowed to.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her favorite colors always belonged to her parents. She loved the clean purple that used to spin around her mom’s head when she was reading a book, the dark blue floating out of her dad’s mouth when he sang to her. A kind of blue that looked like the deepest oceans, nothing like the baby blue that twirls around a short girl who stands a few feet away from where Chloe is. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It isn’t the same shade of blue but it still calls her attention, probably because it brings a weird calmness to Chloe’s sensitive self. The girl is looking at the lake, a hand holding on to the wooden fence that encloses the club, the other holding a bottle that meets her lips from time to time. Chloe is close enough to hear the stranger’s low voice as she hums a song, completely indifferent to the noisy club behind her. The contrast is huge. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You look lonely.” Comes out of Chloe’s mouth, even though she never had the intention of saying anything. “But peaceful,” she completes. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The brunette girl slowly opens her eyes. She turns her head to look at the crowd behind her and then focuses her confused gaze on Chloe’s face, as if Chloe had just woken her up from a dream she wasn’t ready to let go of just yet. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Hi, um...” The girl looks down as she shoves her hair behind her ear, but there wasn’t any misplaced curl. She’s probably just annoyed. “Yeah, I’m not really comfortable with this whole, um, </span> <span class="s2"> <em>vibe</em> </span> <span class="s1">.” She finishes, gesticulating around to make sure Chloe knows she’s referring to the club. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe can’t help but smile at the stranger in front of her, who apparently feels as out of place as she does. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If events like this weren’t so important, Chloe is sure it would take a lot to convince her to come. But this private party is one of a kind. It’s full of ballet masters, photographers and choreographers looking for new talents. The majority of the girls are here to make an impression, as was Chloe’s initial goal before she found herself discreetly walking away from Aubrey to have a bit of fresh air.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I feel you,” she finally answers. “I don’t like it here, either. The pressure is too much.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At her own mention of “pressure”, Chloe takes a step back. She hears the low “yeah” murmured by the one beside her as the brunette takes a sip of her drink, but Chloe’s attention isn’t fully focused on her. Chloe looks around to all the girls in the external area and the thought that they look so much better than she does hadn’t crossed her mind until now. Most of them are taller, have greater posture and confidence shines brightly inside the countless pairs of eyes Chloe faces in this millisecond.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She feels small and inadequate. There’s that little rational voice inside her head, the one that often tries to warn her this is only her own mind diminishing herself, but Chloe isn’t listening to it. Instead, she turns her head to face the girl beside her again. And the calming blue light still spins around her body and flies out of her mouth as Chloe hears the words “Are you okay?” coming from her. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe watches as the girl runs the hand not holding the bottle up and down the cord that keeps her camera on her shoulder, clearly waiting for an answer. Chloe doesn’t give her any. “Would you like to go somewhere else?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The effect her question has on the other girl is instantaneous and she looks at Chloe, eyes wide in surprise. “I, um...” She takes another sip of her beer.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That action startles Chloe and she realizes she probably shouldn’t have said anything. They are complete strangers. She balances her weight from one foot to the other. “It’s okay, I shouldn’t have asked.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her words seem to wake the girl up again. “Oh, no, I’m sorry, I would like to leave, yes.” She laughs, and Chloe pays attention to every little action. A hand placing a curl behind an ear, fingers that tip against a bottle, the crinkles by her eyes when the smile comes. “I’m just awkward.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re not awkward.” Chloe laughs. The other girl blushes. “I’ll meet you outside? Gonna let my friend know I’m leaving.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The girl nods and her small smile is the last thing Chloe sees before turning around to look for Aubrey between the crowd and the colors.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">It’s easier than she expects. She spots her best friend casually sitting by the bar, withher perfect posture and the annoyed expression that’s very Aubrey-like. She’s making small talk with a girl who went to School of American Ballet with them. Chloe remembers vividly the day Stacie was chosen to dance in the Nutcracker for New York City Ballet when they were sixteen and how jealous she felt. Right now, Stacie laughs loudly and throws her head back dramatically. Chloe grimaces at the scene. The pale shade of green that often surrounds the tall brunette always brings a suspicious feeling to Chloe, like a big signal that screams </span> <span class="s2"> <em>stay away!</em> </span> <span class="s1"> so she decides to make it quick.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Aubrey doesn’t question her best friend’s decision to leave. She knows how sensitive Chloe can get when surrounded by so many people, so she flashes her an understanding smile and asks her to be careful. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The large street is almost empty when Chloe leaves the club. The night breeze is warm against her skin and smells like something sweet and heavy, almost harmless. Almost like a lost child with no dreams.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A turn of her head is enough to have the blue glow filling her eyes again. Chloe’s company for the night is on the other side of the street, knees on the ground and camera pointed towards the small naked branches that grow through the rocks in the sidewalk and are illuminated by flashes of neon red lights that come from the club from time to time. The girl’s hair falls against her back in meticulously made curls, and Chloe can only watch as the flash of her camera cuts through the darkness over and over again.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She slowly approaches the brunette, the sound of her steps making the other girl aware of her presence. Chloe smiles. “So, you’re a photographer.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hm, yeah.” The girl looks slightly shy as she shakes her camera, as if pointing out that Chloe just said the obvious. “It’s the first time I’m doing something big like this, though.” They walk side by side on the street, not going anywhere specifically, but enjoying the fresh air and calm ambience. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The brunette quietly giggles to herself, making Chloe turn her head to look at her. “What is it?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You could totally be kidnapping me, you know. I don’t even know your name.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I’m not forcing you to go anywhere with me.” She smirks. “And I’m Chloe.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Beca.” She flashes Chloe a half smile before going on. “So, Chloe. You’re a ballerina.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The confident way the words are spoken by Beca, who is still a stranger to Chloe, makes her smile while lifting an eyebrow. “My perfect posture gave me away, didn’t it?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Beca smiles wider this time. “That, and the thing you said earlier about feeling pressured.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, yeah,” Chloe turns to face the street instead of the girl beside her. “I’m not really used to these big parties. I usually run away from attention.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, that’s kinda ironic, you know,” Beca’s voice carries a bit of sarcasm this time. “You’re a ballerina. All eyes are focused on you when you’re dancing.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“But that’s different. Easier. I just follow...” </span> <span class="s2"><em>the colors</em>, </span> <span class="s1">Chloe wants to complete. She doesn’t, though. Although it actually is true, she’s aware now that it’s only </span> <span class="s2">her</span> <span class="s1"> truth. Beca can’t see the colors. Nobody can.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">A few years ago, School of American Ballet had made a special video to celebrate its 50th anniversary of foundation. All students were supposed to answer a question, a single simple question. </span> <span class="s2">Why do you want to dance? </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Whenever Chloe relives that day inside her head, all the feelings her seventeen-year-old self had felt then come back to her at full force. She thinks about what Aubrey’s answer had been, about how healthy it is for her mind and body, or even the twenty-minute-long discurse about how peaceful ballet makes Stacie feel, and then her mind is filled with the weird looks she’s gotten and the low laughs she’s heard coming from the other ballet dancers when it was her time to answer. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Because I follow the colors.” Chloe had answered. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The same answer she had given her mom when she was six and had started to dance in an unexpectedly perfect way to the song coming from the radio. And inside Chloe’s head, it’s simple. She jumps into a shade of purple that explodes from the song notes, twirls in between a suspicious green and graciously lands on the floor, feet covered in red. It’s natural. Easy. The colors beautifully lead the way, so Chloe follows them. It took her a while to realize that people whose eyes are always so focused on her perfect moves will never understand it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So eventually, she stopped mentioning the colors.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The music.” Chloe answers when the way Beca’s staring at her starts making her cheeks burn. “I follow the music.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Beca turns to face the street, but something in the look she gave Chloe before doing so tells Chloe she was expecting her to say something else. Something different. “I know. It’s easy to get lost in the song, isn’t it?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe is almost certain the answer will be negative, but she sees herself asking anyway, “Do you dance too?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, no, I don’t dance.” Beca giggles. “I do enjoy mixing, though.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’ve been walking for a while now, and it amazes Chloe that Beca hasn’t asked yet where they are heading to. It shows her that Beca is, in fact, enjoying her company. The blue orbit hasn’t faded yet, and for an instant, Chloe gets lost in the way it shines strong and bright around Beca’s shoulders before disappearing into the darkness like smoke. She clears her throat and looks forward once more, a bit surprised to find out her favorite bar is only a few feet away from them.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Chloe wasn’t exactly aware of her steps—not </span> <span class="s2"> <em>fully</em> </span> <span class="s1"> aware, anyway, but she’s glad this is where they ended up. And her excitement grows when Beca agrees to stay with her. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They enter the bar and Chloe immediately feels the tension leaving her shoulders as she guides Beca to the table in the corner, where they sit facing each other. She orders a margarita, Beca asks for a beer. The lights aren’t too bright there, making Chloe feel like she’s trapped inside her own bubble where human eyes cannot reach her. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So, about your mixes,” Chloe starts, sipping her margarita. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What about them?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe licks the salt off her lips before carrying on, “Do you mix stuff like classic music?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, no. They are mostly pop songs, with beats I create myself.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A photographer who mixes. That’s new. “Do you use them in a professional way? Or do you, like, mix stuff for other people?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, not really. It’s just a hobby.” Beca pauses to sip on her beer. “Photography is my passion.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How did you start with photography?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">And what captivates Chloe’s attention is exactly what other people can’t see. “Oh, since I was very young.” The way the blue aura grows more vibrant around Beca’s shoulder as she twirls a brunette curl between her fingers before tucking it behind her ear. “My uncle had this old camera and I would always take random pictures of my family when we were outside and they weren’t paying attention. It was almost like... like i was expecting to see something different in the picture, you know?” Chloe nods. She nods because she knows. She gets what Beca’s trying to say. Pictures </span><span class="s2">are </span><span class="s1">different</span> <span class="s1">than real life. There’s always something missing. “My mom’s always told me I have a good eye for photography, so that’s what I do. I photograph families.” </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It must be completely different to photograph ballerinas, I assume.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not really,” Beca laughs. “I like to capture movement. Parents swinging their child in the air, a kid twirling and jumping in a field.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Beca seems to get lost down memory lane while telling Chloe a story about how she found her love for capturing genuine, natural moments. She tells Chloe about the words said to her by a sweet old man, when she’d been upset after taking a picture with her cousin and the results had been all blurry. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“He told me, ‘blurry pictures are the best ones, because they are products of a moment that was being lived, when people weren’t worried about being photographed. That’s </span> <span class="s2"> <em>emotion</em> </span> <span class="s1">.’” Beca quotes. “And I don’t know, those words never really left me.”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Because they’re true,” Chloe comments. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And the stories don’t stop there. Chloe watches as the woman in front of her visits her past, reliving memories that apparently have been buried in a deep part of her for a very long time. After Beca drinks the last bits of her fourth beer while Chloe asks how her parents’ divorce made her feel, something changes. Beca places the bottle back in the table with more force than necessary and looks at Chloe with furrowed brows and confused eyes, as if only now she realizes she hasn’t been talking to herself all this time. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She gets up while apologizing for losing track of time and takes her wallet out of her purse to give Chloe money to pay for her beers. Chloe rejects the money with a shake of her head and a polite, gentle smile. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry I’m leaving like this. I just have a lot of things to do tomorrow.” Beca says before thanking Chloe for their lovely talk and turning to leave. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The beautiful blue aura around Beca’s shoulders is slowly turning green as she waves at Chloe from outside the bar and slides into the backseat of an uber. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And that’s how Chloe knows something isn’t right. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Because green means uncertainty. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">***</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Anyone would think Chloe is crazy for walking down the streets by herself at almost one in the morning, but she can’t help it. She enjoys the silence she’s surrounded by and the fact the only lights she sees are the ones coming from the poles. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe knows these streets like the back of her hand. She’s walked along this same sidewalk countless times before, excited little jumps when her dad would take her and her sister to the mall at the end of the avenue, or amongst loud teenagers when Chloe was so hammered she could barely walk straight. The amount of memories concentrated in a single place is weirdly comforting and so familiar. The old man Chloe saw every morning walking his dog, the doorman of a building sitting on a chair on the sidewalk, always with his sunglasses on, even when there wasn’t any sunshine. The woman sitting in a low wall, a cigarette always between her fingers, waiting for her husband to come out so they could leave for their jobs. The lovely sound of a piano coming from inside the house 148 every Tuesday afternoon, when Chloe was leaving SAB. The house used to explode in the most beautiful light shades of yellow, pink and blue, and most times Chloe would sit in the little café in front of it, just to appreciate the beauty only she was allowed to witness. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They were strangers, and still, a part of Chloe’s daily routine. She was used to seeing them everyday, and couldn’t help but wonder what could have happened to them if they weren’t there by the time she was passing by. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The doorman greets Chloe with a polite smile as she enters the building and walks toward the stairs. She finds the apartment door unlocked as always, and after entering the small room, she locks it up, smiling when the smell of coffee reaches her. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Chloe has never met someone as obsessed with coffee as Tom. In his apartment, the thermos is never empty, and Chloe is so used to find him with a hot mug in hands—</span> <span class="s1">especially when he’s working—it somehow feels like the smell has impregnated the apartment’s walls. But Chloe loves it. She loves the way Tom holds his coffee mug and takes slowly sips, his eyes closing as a deep “hmm” falls from his mouth, like his coffee is the most important thing in the world. It’s comforting. It makes her think of lazy afternoons on the couch surrounded by yellow that came from the rays of sunshine through the open white curtains, and from the aura floating around Tom, as he spoke about random stuff.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They are not in a relationship—not a labeled one, anyway. Chloe feels like Tom is a step away from being her One True Love. Or maybe the kind of love she wants to experience only lives inside her head, like mermaids and fairies, like things you know beforehand you’re never gonna actually see. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Things with Tom are fun. They’ve known each other since College and Chloe trusts him, but there’s something missing. There’s no burning passion between them. Instead, there’s a momentary desire. It’s casual, and enough for now. They enjoy each other’s company and the sex is great, but Chloe’s never felt any kind of deep connection beyond that. His golden yellow aura is hopeful and makes her feel comfortable, but... that’s it. No more and no less. Just okay. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe sighs as she enters the bathroom for a very needed shower. Trying not to think too much about tonight’s event, she settles beside Tom on his bed and lets him bring her closer to his body, finally closing her tired eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">***</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The stage has been Chloe’s favorite place since she first stepped into one, in a ballet recital when she was seven. There was tension in the air as she closed her eyes forcefully, trying to concentrate and not shy away before the curtains opened and she could hear every single breath from the people sitting in the audience. Chloe only opened her eyes when the music reached her ears and she knew the colors would be there for her. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But there’s no color right now. The stage is dark and empty, but Chloe crosses it in quick steps. She hears the crack beneath her feet when she walks over the misplaced wooden carpet close to the booth’s door and smiles to herself. She knew it would be there, even though it’s been six years since she last performed here.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe turns the stage’s lights on, but not all of them. She leaves it poor illuminated, just enough so she can see her surroundings. The song isn’t too loud as the initial notes fill the air, but the colors are extremely bright. Yellow and pink fly out of the sound box. Hope and happiness beautifully mending together and imploring Chloe to follow them. She closes her eyes and does just so. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Mark would be mad at Chloe if he knew she’s rehearsing in the stage by herself this early. He has been her Ballet Master since she entered SAB, when she was thirteen. But Chloe is a perfectionist, and he knows it, that’s why he told her to not go too hard on herself when they met last week, three days after the event, telling Chloe she was one of the chosen girls to audition to perform as Giselle. It’s the first opportunity Chloe has to be the main ballerina, so Mark’s completely correct in his concerns. She is allowed to use this space, and she </span> <span class="s2"> <em>is</em> </span> <span class="s1"> going to fight tooth and nail to get the role.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The steps of Act I are fresh on Chloe’s mind, given the amount of times she’s watched many different girls dancing on YouTube videos. It’s natural for her to let the song play on loop on her phone and dance until her feet hurt and her body asks for a break. Chloe hasn’t reached that point of exhaustion yet, but when the wooden carpet cracks under somebody else’s weight, she stops and twirls to face the booth. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A small person walks shyly towards her, and although her face is hidden by the darkness, Chloe recognizes her instantly. “Hey, um... sorry to interrupt,” Beca gestures to the booth behind her. “I just had to come and check on the stage lights for the kids’ recital this weekend.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe nods, still quite out of breath from all the dancing. She replaces her ballet shoes with her sneakers and puts her hair up in a knot just as the whole stage lights up. After shoving her bag around her shoulder, she turns around to leave just as Beca’s voice reaches her ears again.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It won’t take too long!” Beca taps on a button inside the booth and the stage’s lights glow in different shades of blue, but nothing as beautiful as Beca’s aura. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For the past few years, Chloe has been trying to ignore the colors shining around random people’s heads. It isn’t her job to understand their feelings, but 17-year-old Chloe used to think it is. Whenever she spotted a person whose colors meant sadness, she would spend the rest of the day thinking about it. And just wouldn’t let it go. She brought this discussion once in her therapy session, Dr. Jen’s face turning soft when the words left Chloe’s mouth. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Everybody has bad days, Chloe. And it’s beautiful that you care about people you don’t even know, but don’t you think that focusing on the bad will only overwhelm you?” Dr. Jen had said. “Why don’t focus on the colors that make you feel happy?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Chloe’s never stopped following her therapist’s advice. That’s why she couldn’t help but approach Beca back on the event’s day, because Beca’s color made her feel a soothing happiness she hadn’t felt since her father passed away. Like somehow that calm blue glow was whispering to her that everything was going to be fine. So she turns to look at Beca and get that sweet feeling once more, but the color shining around her shoulder isn’t blue today. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s brown. Beca is annoyed. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe can sense it, not just from the aura, but from the way Beca’s fingers are tense as they push and pull random buttons inside the booth, and from the way she’s frowning. Chloe doesn’t even notice when she starts walking, but she finds herself looking at Beca from the booth’s door.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is everything okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Beca doesn’t look up at her when she answers. “Oh yeah. It’s just that this isn’t my job to do, you know? To check the lights.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe doubts this is the reason behind Beca’s mood, but she doesn’t push. Her face turns into a smirk. “Hm I get it. Such a hard thing to do.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She wasn’t sure how Beca would take her attempt at sarcasm, but the sound of a low laugh tells her the air isn’t as tense as it was before.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right? I’m super tired.” Beca keeps playing with the buttons, a the lights illuminate the stage in pale shades of blue mixed with golden yellow, until she pushes a big red one that turns all the lights off. “I had planned to stay all day in bed.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No photoshoots scheduled for today?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Beca walks towards the door to leave the stage, Chloe following close. “No, but I have a sweet autumn session tomorrow.” She stops. “Oh, I’m sorry, I turned the lights off.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s okay, I was done anyway.” Chloe lies. “Actually, I was planning to go grab something to eat in the Starbucks across the street, in case you’d like to join me.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay,” Beca laughs. “I’m already out of bed anyway.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Apart from one couple and a girl, Chloe and Beca are alone in the Starbucks shop. They make their orders, and after paying, pick a table close to the window. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The brown aura hasn’t faded yet, which makes Chloe feel nervous and think twice about what she’s going to say.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I had fun the other day, you know.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Beca blinks at her, as if she’s trying to understand what Chloe is talking about, but then her whole face lights up and a small smile takes form in the corner of her lips. “Yeah, me too.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think you didn’t tell me how you ended up here at SAB?” Chloe puts it as if she’s uncertain, but she knows Beca’s never told her that. And Chloe wants her to. “I don’t remember seeing you around before.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, I don’t really work for the school,” Beca pauses when the waiter arrives with their orders, but resumes after taking a sip from her coffee. “You know Jace Gumm, right?” Chloe nods. “He’s my uncle’s boyfriend. Jace was looking for a photographer to work with him in his new ballet, and well, I’m not a pro at photographing ballerinas, but I do love capturing movement. So I was supposed to work only for Jace specifically, but this weekend’s photographer for the kids’ recital had to travel due to an ill person in his family. So I’m just replacing him.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The amount of information has Chloe gasping. She had imagined Beca was the one who’d put her name on the list of ballerinas to audition for Giselle, and Beca’s words basically just confirmed it. But Chloe would never think Beca was close with Jace Gumm. He is one of the best Ballet Masters in the world, and the mind behind many adaptations in the New York City Ballet of famous dances, like Swan Lake, La Bayadère, Cinderella, and now Giselle. Which Chloe can actually be a part of. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sips her coffee. “Wow, that’s great!” Because really, what else she can say?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But Beca smiles and tilts her head down, before turning to look at Chloe again. She’s more relaxed now, Chloe can feel it, even though the brown aura still glows around her shoulders. “I almost didn’t take it, actually.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe’s eyes go wide. “What? Why?!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And the laugh that comes from Beca sounds happy and real. “I understand how absurd you think it is, but I tend to stick to what I’m confident about. It isn’t my place to photograph ballet, you know? But my uncle encouraged me a lot, so now I’m pretty excited about it.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sure you’re gonna do great!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thanks.” Beca taps her fingers against the table in a constant rhythm, and Chloe wonders which song is going through her mind. “Were you rehearsing for Giselle?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um, yeah.” Chloe shifts in the chair, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. She usually loves talking about ballet, but knowing Beca is working directly with Jace Gumm, the person who will decide wether Chloe is good enough to perform as Giselle or not, reminds her there are other girls who want that, too. Acknowledging this fact would normally make Chloe feel anxious, but weirdly, it doesn’t have any effect on her today.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Even with the brown glowing strongly around Beca’s shoulders, there is something peaceful about her. It’s like only Beca’s presence is enough to lessen all the insecurities inside Chloe’s heart. Like her dark blue eyes repeat a wordless mantra that says everything’s gonna be just fine. And it scares Chloe, because it hasn’t happened before. At least not with someone she’s known for a single week.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I know it’s silly to say that, but don’t be too tense about it. I’m sure you’re gonna do great.” Beca winks as she says Chloe’s words back to her. Chloe smiles.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It isn’t silly. Thank you.” She lifts the cup towards her lips to finish her coffee. “I do have my ways to lessen the tension when it’s too much.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Let me guess,” Beca’s lips turn into a smirk. “Margaritas in a low-key bar?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe smirks back. “How did you know?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I just did.” Beca’s words are accompanied by a raised eyebrow this time. “I’m more a beer girl, but a good low-key bar is amazing to just... do nothing.” She laughs. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, can I give you my number so we can just do nothing in a low-key bar anytime?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It could have been the wrong thing to say, but Chloe didn’t stop to consider her words. Her mind was filled with the way she enjoys Beca’s company and wishes so badly to see the beautiful blue of Beca’s aura just one more time. And only for a second, Chloe does worry about it, but she pushes the feeling away as soon as Beca tells her it’s okay, and a smile plays on her lips as she types Chloe’s number on her phone. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They say goodbye not much longer after that. Chloe turns to wave at Beca from outside the Starbucks, just to find Beca already looking at her through the window, the same sweet little smile on her lips. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe is two blocks away when she realizes she’s still smiling, too. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">***</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It took Chloe a while to get used to the new house after she and her family moved from Portland to New York City, when she got into School of American Ballet. Although she was pursuing her dream, she actually hated the house. But nowadays, nine years later, Chloe thinks very differently, and even the tiny details that used to bother her when they first moved in ended up becoming aspects of her daily life that she no longer could live without.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe loves how the house is naturally cold, due to the trees that grow on each side and keep the sun from warming it up properly. She loves the old carpet that covers the floor and carries vestiges of her dad and the way he used to walk, dragging his feet around, leaving trails behind him. Chloe loves the sound of her steps on the wooden stairs, the many oil stains covering the stove from all her dad’s failed attempts to cook, the rainbow sign in her room’s door that has her name in it and she never bothered to take off, and the old, almost falling apart ballet barre her dad installed in her room so many years ago.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe closes the door behind her and, after taking her laptop out, she drops her bag to the floor, moving closer to her bed and falling on her belly. She can hear her sister humming a random song in her room, and it makes Chloe smile quietly to herself. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When it’s about home, everything is special to Chloe, even though her mom and sister’s colors aren’t as bright as they used to be. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hesitant steps reach Chloe’s ears when she’s about to put her earphones on and she stops mid-movement, her hand frozen in the air, just listening as the steps pass straight through her bedroom and her sister’s door is opened. There’s a small talk going on, and Chloe isn’t sure what’s being said, but it only lasts a minute, and then the steps are coming back again, briefly stopping by her door. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Chloe imagines how weird it would be if her mom decided to knock on her door just to ask how her day went. But it only lasts a heartbeat and her mom is gone. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She has never knocked, and probably never will.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe’s room it’s like her little sanctuary. It used to be the only place she felt safe when she was little; Chloe never ran away from the colors. She would stay at parks with her parents and sister, playing and running around until the situations around her started to become an almost unbearable mix of colors and feelings inside her head. She would get home, run to her room and lock herself up inside her little world, while trying to understand what on Earth was wrong with her. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her silence never lasted much, though. Her dad always knocked on her door after minutes, just enough so Chloe could calm herself down. He used to ask her everything. What was her favorite color that day, if her feelings had a shape or a happy or sad color. These tiny moments were everything to Chloe. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After he passed away, her mom gives Chloe so much privacy—a privacy Chloe knows her sister will never have, no matter how old she is. It’s overwhelming. It’s lonely. It makes Chloe feel like a stranger inside the place she loves dearly.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Pushing all the memories aside so she doesn’t get lost in time, Chloe finally puts a song to play on her Spotify playlist so she can focus. This is one of her favorite parts of studying a new ballet. Getting to know what are the feelings the ballerina needs to make people feel, learning the order of steps and the story that’s being told. Not that she’s never heard about Giselle before, it’s a classic. Which only makes the pressure of getting it even bigger.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Act II had just started yet on another YouTube video when Chloe hears a soft knock on her door. “Come in,” She answers, taking the earphones off and moving to sit at the edge of her bed just as her sister approaches her. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey,” A kiss is planted on Chloe’s cheek. “How are you?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fine! Studying for the new ballet.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, I figured,” Delphine sits down by her side. “What is it about?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A smile quickly surges in Chloe’s face, and it stays, as she tells her sister everything about Giselle and hears Delphine’s hilarious comments and words of encouragement. All of it surrounded by the sweet pink of Delphine’s aura, a color Chloe learned to love a little too late. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They weren’t really close when they were little, but it’s not like it’s their fault. Chloe used to feel jealousy towards her sister, for the simple fact Delphine was “normal”, while she had to deal with her complex mind since always. And although her dad always encouraged bonding family time, Chloe’s mom only made her feel like a freak. As if seeing sounds as colors and having to deal with the overwhelming amount of feelings that came with it, was something Chloe’s chosen for herself, instead of a weird gift of fate. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">While her dad was gentle and understanding, her mom was intense and complicated. She never liked it when Chloe mentioned the colors, or the way Chloe has always been obsessed with ballet. Whenever she mentioned either of those, her mom’s face turned into an annoyed expression as she seemed to hear—but not </span> <span class="s2"> <em>listen</em> </span> <span class="s1">—to what her oldest daughter had to say. An expression that said, even without words, “deal with your shit.” And Chloe knows when she isn’t wanted. Everybody does. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Things with Delphine took time to feel natural, but Chloe remembers vividly the day the key changed—the day of their dad’s funeral.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was the first time Chloe’s room didn’t feel like a safe space for her. It was dark and cold, and even the weather outside the window seemed to be grieving, too. Delphine entered her sister’s room in a rush, kneeling in front of Chloe and grabbing her hand. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying all day long, and her hold on Chloe’s hand was too strong. Desperate. But it was the way Delphine looked at her in that moment. Like she was imploring her sister to finally look at her, after fourteen years. Trying to show Chloe that she also needed something to hold on to.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe hadn’t shed a tear yet. But somehow she fell to floor, into her sister’s embrace. Delphine caught her. And never let her go. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That’s what Chloe is thinking about as she watches Delphine fall backwards into her bed, laughing out loud at something stupid she said. But then, as quickly as she arrived, Delphine is getting up and walking towards the door, ready to leave so she can get ready for a date. She turns to Chloe as she opens the door.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t go too hard on yourself, okay? You’re an amazing ballerina.” Chloe nods. “Hey,” Delphine reaches out to lift her sister’s chin. “We love you. Mom and I.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe sighs, maybe too dramatically. Okay, they love her. “I know.” She smiles.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And just like that, the door is closed, Delphine is gone and Chloe is back in bed to do nothing else than exactlywhat her sister had told her not to—go too hard on herself. But as soon as she taps on her phone screen to resume the music, Chloe realizes there’s a new text from an unknown number. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A text from Beca. Asking her if she would like to meet her in a bar in a couple hours. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Before she could consider whether it’s a good idea or not, Chloe is already texting back. Simply because the thought of Beca wanting to spend more time with her brings an unexpected excitement that Chloe rarely feels towards anything other than ballet. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A couple hours is almost what it takes for Chloe to finally pick her clothes and do her makeup, and she just second guesses her choice when the cold wind blows against her bare legs, right before Chloe’s about to enter the place Beca told her she would be waiting for her. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Her reflection smiles back at her from the door’s dark glass. Chloe feels pretty. She </span> <span class="s2"><em>knows</em> </span> <span class="s1">she looks pretty in the short sleeved brown dress she picked especially for tonight. She wants to impress someone, but the reason behind this weird feeling isn’t known yet. Chloe wants Beca to like her. It could totally be just Beca’s peaceful blue aura that pulls Chloe towards her, but Chloe is sure there’s so much more hidden behind those midnight eyes. Almost as if Beca knows a secret, too. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe pushes the door open and enters the bar. Its interior is warm and stuffy, making Chloe aware she won’t need her denim jacket anytime soon. There are too many people around for a Thursday night, but it doesn’t bother Chloe at all this time. She doesn’t feel anxious. Her eyes sweep the place, looking for Beca between all the colors. She hears an excited “hey!” coming from somewhere on her right, and turns to see Beca smiling at her from a table in the corner. Chloe makes her way towards her, realizing the rosy tone of Beca’s cheeks that tells her Beca is a few drinks ahead of her. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, stranger!” Chloe shoves her jacket in the chair and moves to seat, letting a small chuckle out when Beca stumbles on her own feet as she stands to greet Chloe with a kiss on her cheek. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That’s new. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Beca sits back on the chair, giggling to herself, before she speaks in a lazy, high-pitched tone. “I’m so glad you came!” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yes, she’s definitely had a few drinks. “You’re a bit buzzed, huh?” Chloe teases, letting a smirk grow in her lips as she watches Beca blush. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, they make these drinks,” Beca lifts her glass containing some kind of licor in shades of blue and green. “I don’t know what it is, but you can barely feel the alcohol. I’ve been drinking them like juice.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe laughs once more when Beca almost drops her glass, an “oopsie!” leaving Beca’s mouth as she takes the glass to her lips to lick on the border. “Yeah, I can tell.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shut up.” Beca complains, face reddening again. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But come on now. Any blue drink makes me feel like dying the next morning. And mixed with a greenish something? What is that, a mint licor?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, wow!” Beca looks down at her weird drink, like she’s suddenly not so sure about it. “I invited you to have fun and you’re judging my drinks! That’s unbelievable.” An eyebrow raises as she finishes what’s left on her glass, and Chloe just laughs. “I had a strawberry one before this. You should try it.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">A hand is lifted to call the bartender’s attention and Beca orders Chloe’s drink, and another one for herself. They quickly fall into a random talk, and Chloe can’t help but feel curious about everything that involves Beca. The beautiful blue aura is back again and there’s no sign of Beca’s earlier annoyance, but still, there </span> <span class="s2"> <em>is</em> </span> <span class="s1"> something there. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s subtle, but it’s there. Chloe can see its shadow crossing Beca’s eyes whenever she lowers her head to check her phone screen, just to ignore whatever it’s there, and she quickly goes back to focus on Chloe’s face. It makes her think Beca is using the drinks to ignore the reason behind her mood this afternoon, and although Chloe obviously has done it before, she feels worried. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Drunk Beca is awkward in the most adorable way. Chloe likes this side of her—not that she’s seen many ones previously, since they’ve seen each other twice, but Beca seems to be a woman who closes herself to everyone and prefers to stay in her own personal bubble, so incredibly different than the person who’s sitting across Chloe right now. Under the alcohol spell, Beca looks so weightless she could easily start floating around. Her reddened cheeks beautifully mold her face, she blinks more lazily, her voice is louder and her laughs come easier, echoing like music to Chloe’s ears. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A car crosses the street outside the bar, its headlights sending a white flash through the window right on Beca’s face. It’s so quick Chloe wouldn’t have noticed if she wasn’t looking at her, but the way the dark blue of Beca’s eyes sparkles makes something twist inside Chloe. Makes her look down at her own hands on the table, one holding onto one of the three empty glasses Chloe doesn’t quite remember drinking, the other close to Beca’s, but not close enough. And she wants to move it so badly. She really does. But then Beca moves hers. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The touch is minimal, just three of Beca’s fingers atop Chloe’s hand. Barely there. But Chloe feels its intensity for the way it burns like fire. The flames go all the way through her arm and settle down on her chest, her heart going instantly crazy. And she doesn’t know what it means, nor has has time to try and figure it out, because Beca squeezes her hand and asks her to go dance. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They walk towards the dance floor in unsteady heels, fingers still laced together and giggles flying out of their mouth. Chloe has no idea what song is playing, but the beats are contagious, Beca’s moves are intoxicating, and it’s impossible to look away from her. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Although Chloe doesn’t think the timid girl she met only two weeks ago usually does this kind of stuff, she just lets Beca be. They didn’t run out of subjects to talk about back on the table, but talking can be dangerous when there are words you’re afraid to say. Then it’s easy to leave your comfort zone for a while. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Beca stares at Chloe as she dances, like she wants Chloe to watch. So she does, and takes everything in—Beca’s hips moving in perfect sync from side to side, never missing a beat. Hands that tangle in dark hair and travel down her body, making Chloe wish it was her own hands following the smooth path of pale skin and disappearing under the thin material of Beca’s shirt. It’s almost torturous to watch, so Chloe decides to act. Reaching out to grab her hand again, Chloe pulls Beca in, holding her close for a while, before gently pushing her backwards as she twirls Beca around. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s the first time the amount of colors doesn’t make Chloe feel uncomfortable. There’s only blue—the dark shade in Beca’s eyes, and the brightness of her aura. They’re dancing out of rhythm, in a mess of clumsy moves and unsteady steps. But it’s freeing and they’re laughing out loud, and whatever is waiting for them outside this moment doesn’t really matter. At least not until the music stops, which apparently won’t happen so soon, so Chloe feels the safety inside their momentary bubble wrap their bodies like a warm blanket in a cold day. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But eventually, it bursts. It happens so quickly they don’t realize it at first. Beca looks over Chloe’s shoulder with curiosity in her eyes, and only then Chloe hears it. A familiar voice coming from behind her, calling her name. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She turns around to meet Tom’s eyes. The look on his face and the way his dark hair sticks to his sweaty forehead tells Chloe he’s probably as drunk as Beca. “Hey, Tom! It’s so nice to see you here!” She falls forwards to give him a kiss on the cheek, her hand searching Beca’s behind her. “This is my friend, Beca.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Hi, Beca!” Tom greets, his arm falling against the shoulders of a woman beside him. “This is Stephanie.” Chloe turns her attention to the woman, eyes surprised as she greets her. “</span> <span class="s2">I’m</span> <span class="s1"> surprised to see you here, actually. I know you’re not a fan of crowded places.”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, but it’s been a nice night so far.” She smiles tenderly at him before tilting her head to look at Beca. Chloe feels like she’s uncomfortable.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tom chuckles, “Too much gin?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe does, too. “Oh, boy! About three of those.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They make small talk for a while, but it doesn’t last longer than a couple minutes. Chloe feels the way Beca plays with her fingers, clearly uncomfortable. She leaves to order them another drink, and Tom soon excuses himself. Chloe flashes a small smile to him and Stephanie, before letting Beca take the lead towards a door on the right side of the place. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The cool breeze contrasts against her warm, sweaty skin as Chloe walks beside Beca in the external area of the bar. It’s like a balcony, with a cute wooden floor and a few tables around. There are people there too, but nothing compared to the crowd in the dance floor. Not that Chloe would care, anyway. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ignoring the tables, Beca walks towards the protective ledge and stops, slowly exhaling through her mouth. Chloe just watches her, like when they first met two weeks ago. But there’s no lake in front of them this time, just a ghostly dark street. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Beca hands Chloe one of the glasses she has in hands, and takes a sip of her own drink before breaking the silence. “Can I ask you something?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You just did.” Chloe teases. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m serious, Chlo.” Chloe gives her an encouraging nod, and Beca’s eyes are on the street when she speaks again. “A day before we met, Jace was at my uncle’s house. We were having lunch together, but he was focused on his laptop screen. I knew your face was familiar, but I couldn’t quite put together that you were the girl on the video until we were at the Starbucks earlier today. It was short, and you weren’t dancing. But you’ve said something about following colors, and I don’t know, I just... got curious about whatit could mean.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There it is. The secret.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Their eyes meet, and Chloe isn’t sure Beca would have asked anything if she wasn’t so drunk. The words fly out of her mind before Chloe decides what to say, “It’s called synesthesia.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Beca speaks, Chloe can hear the regret in her voice. “Is it... like a disease or something?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, not really. It means I mix the senses. There are people who can taste words, hear colors, and so much more.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What happens to you?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I see sounds as colors.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Beca sips her drink, eyes on Chloe, mind apparently anywhere else. “So you can see the music? That’s... wow. That’s beautiful.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, but not only music. I can see colors according to what people feel. Like, the emotions in their voice tone create a color. It’s usually always the same, but sometimes they change when their feelings are too strong.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What color am I?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe laughs at the way Beca speaks, like she is about to take an online quiz to find out which color she is, eyes sparkling like a kid who just learned a secret. Which, well, she kind of did. “Blue.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Like, dark blue?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No. More like a baby blue.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay. Like your eyes, then?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Kind of. But prettier. You’re beautiful, Beca.” Chloe adds, not caring about what Beca may think. “It was brown this morning, though. I could tell you were stressed over something, but I didn’t want to bother you with it.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She watches as Beca plays with her hands, long fingers sliding through the water that runs down the outside of the glass. Her mouth opens multiple times only to close again, as if Beca is waging an internal battle while trying to decide what to say next. And when she finally speaks, she doesn’t change the subject. “Has it always been like that?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There's no judgment in her voice, only curiosity. Chloe can't blame her, she's sure she would feel curious if the situation was the other way around. But also, she isn’t used to talk about her synesthesia. She just quietly deals with it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Except for her family and Aubrey, Tom is the only outside person who knows about it. The three of them went to college together, and Chloe remembers perfectly how amazing Tom thought it was that she always knew when he was having a bad day. Then she explained. It's not a gift. Chloe only sees what most people can't, but Tom looked at her the same way Beca does now. The big, curious eyes, shining with the enchantment of a new discovery. A secret. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I had to see a psychologist so my parents could understand what was happening to me.” Chloe starts, pausing to take a sip of her drink that’s already too warm for her taste. “They thought I was schizophrenic at first. You know, seeing things that weren’t really there. I can't tell when the key changed, but the day I first saw the music... it was too tempting to stand still and not to follow the path the colors so desperately wanted to take me. Then I danced. And never stopped.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Despite facing the street, Chloe can feel Beca's gaze. And it burns her face, where she knows her eyes are focused with the same contentment as before. As if Chloe has suddenly become a character who came out of an unknown fairytale. And that's where the problem lies. Fairytales are stories to make children sleep. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wow. You have a super power.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe’s head is shaking even before she turns to look at Beca, an exhausted expression in her face. “It’s not that special, Beca. It can feel like a curse sometimes.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They fall into a comfortable silence while Beca seems to think about Chloe's words. The music coming from the inside arrives in a muffled sound to Chloe's ears and she closes her eyes when the breeze gently swings her hair. She finishes her drink and turns around, opening her eyes to face Beca again. And, for the second time on the same day, Beca is already looking at her. With a slight smile on her lips, Beca lowers her head, looking shy for the first time since Chloe arrived at the bar. “It’s my birthday.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe’s eyes grow in surprise, trying so hard to remember what day it is. September 19th? The 21st? “What?!” She playfully slams Beca’s arm. “Why you didn’t tell me? I didn’t get you anything!” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh that’s okay, you didn’t know! And it’s probably past midnight, anyway.” The giggles die in Beca’s throat as her face turns sad. “I’ve never really liked to celebrate myself, you know? But my grandma did. She would show up at my house every year, order a cake and sing to me. No matter how many times I’ve told her I dislike my birthday, she was always there. And she... well, she passed away back in February. Today was feeling so empty without her here.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There it is, once again. The reason behind Beca’s earlier annoyance. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Another secret. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Their hands touch. Soft fingers lacing together. “It isn’t feeling empty anymore?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The smile is back on Beca’s face. Shy and sweet. Beautiful. “No,” She shakes her head. “Not really.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe hates having to let go of Beca's hand in a moment like this, but she needs both hands to open her purse and look for her phone. When she finally finds it, the screen quickly lights up. September 22nd. Eleven forty-four at night. “It’s still your birthday.” Chloe turns the phone so Beca can check the hours. “Make a wish.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This is one of the moments Chloe wishes to never forget. And not just keep a faint memory, but every detail of it. How Beca's eyes shine with unshed tears and a shy smile plays on her lips when she gently takes Chloe's phone from her hand and places it on the ledge. The confident arm that slides over her back, bringing her body a few inches forward and forcing her eyes to close when Chloe feels Beca's breath on her cheek because they’re that close. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, color girl?” Chloe reopens her eyes. “What color am I now?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Chloe definitely isn’t ready for that. She has no idea when Beca’s aura changed, but she shines in the most beautiful shade of yellow. The color contrasts with the night, as if the galaxy went crazy enough to let the sun shine after it was supposed to go to bed, making it look like Beca is an enchanted soul that came only to brighten up Chloe’s life. And right now, it truly feels like she did. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s—“ Chloe has to clean her throat before finding her voice again. “It’s yellow.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">It’s </span> <span class="s2"> <em>hope</em></span><span class="s1">.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her eyes are suddenly shut again, Beca’s lips on hers and hands between her curls pulling her in, not wanting to let her go. Chloe’s hands go up and down Beca’s back, holding her close, as their mouths push and pull. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Beca kisses her slowly, like they’re back in their bubble and she wants to hold onto the moment just a little longer. Chloe wants it too, but they need to break for air way too soon. And when they part and Beca looks at Chloe like she holds the whole universe in her hopeful eyes, Chloe’s first thought is pretty simple. She doesn’t want to let her go.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Because there’s not much to think about when you have your back to the darkness while carrying the sun in your arms. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The rest of the night goes by as fast as a blink of eyes. There’s no way Chloe would let Beca go back home as drunk as she is, so she orders an uber for both of them, stopping by at Beca’s place first. It’s a little apartment about twenty minutes away from the bar they were at. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When the car stops, Beca turns to look at her. “You could come in, color girl.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It isn’t a question, it’s a suggestion. And Beca is right, she really could come in. But Chloe doesn’t know what makes her plant a final kiss on Beca’s lips and watch her disappear in the night. She tries to blame it on Beca’s strong emotions and the colors they create, but that’s not quite right. Chloe is worried about her own feelings. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After paying the driver, Chloe leaves the car to see someone standing at her doorstep. Delphine’s blonde curls swing in the air as she fights to open the front door. Chloe chuckles. “You need any help?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her sister turns around, lifting the key up. “You know what,” Chloe realizes Delphine is drunk just by the sound of her voice. “This is humiliating!” She slams the door. “It won’t open!” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe takes the key from her sister to help her out. They would have taken way less time to complete such a simple task if they had noticed the fact they were handling the wrong key. By the time they get the door open, they’re laughing too loud for how late it is, but clearly, none of them care about it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Delphine holds onto her hand when Chloe is about to enter her room. She smiles. “You look happy, Chlo.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe smiles back. “I am.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">***</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Auditioning has always been the worst part of ballet in Chloe’s opinion. It’s nerve-racking, and to think Jace Gumm has to like what he sees, only increases Chloe’s anxiety. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her audition for Giselle ends up being full of “pay attention to how you articulate your feet, Chloe”, and “push your hips more forwards, Chloe”, and “hold your arms higher, Chloe”, and she goes back home feeling devastated for how many time Jace had to correct her movements. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But, somehow, she gets the role, and happiness is not enough to describe the feeling that takes over Chloe's chest when Mark calls to tell her that she is the chosen one to play Giselle. In fact, it’s a mix of everything. Good and bad. Happiness, apprehension, gratitude, and for some unknown reason, fear.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All the feelings come together at once, leaving a bittersweet flavor in her mouth. Wasn’t it what she always wanted? To have a moment of her own at least once?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The one who soothes her soul is Delphine. She is the one who tells Chloe, with attentive and charismatic eyes, that the responsibility that comes with this decision can be overwhelming. Chloe smiles and caresses her sister’s face, gratitude settling in her chest for her being there when everybody else isn’t. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A new routine begins the next day. Too long days that always start with pilates, pause for lunch, then rehearsals until seven o’clock, and end with an exhausted Chloe, sore feet and calluses, coming home and barely having time to dine and take a well-deserved shower, before collapsing in bed; Jace Gumm is always there, facing every jump, twirl, every step Chloe takes with harsh eyes and perfect posture. There is something about the way Jace places his hand over his chin and his eyebrows rise up to almost disappear under the dark fringe. Something Chloe couldn’t understand until the second week. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The sound of her shoes against the floor breaks the silent corridors. They are using one of the rooms in SAB for rehearsals, and Chloe crosses corridor after corridor rhythmically, as if she’s dancing even as she walks, feeling nostalgic as she sees the little girls dancing through the glass and remembers when she was one of them, dreaming about performing for New York City Ballet. It’s still unbelievable to Chloe that her dream is coming true.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She counts five doors to the red trash, where she discards the Starbucks’ coffee cup she had in hands, and then three more until she turns the handle and enters. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Inside the room there are Jace, Mark, a guy with a funny haircut—John— who is one of Chloe's dance partners, and Beca, who smiles when their eyes meet. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The days Beca goes to rehearsals are Chloe's favorite ones. She shows up from time to time to take pictures and to film little bits of the dance. They always end up doing something together afterwards.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">On the first day, Chloe left too quickly to realize Beca followed her. When she noticed the steps that sounded behind her, she turned. Beca wasn’t carrying her camera, and wore dark jeans and a white tank top. She looked beautiful. They ended up walking to the park at the end of the street, where they stayed until just before dusk, throwing a $1 red frisbee into the air at each other. The plastic disk ended up in a thicket when Chloe threw it too hard. Chloe could see the red tip through the green leaves from where she was sitting, listening to the sound of water running in the lake and the screams coming from the children beside her. It took Beca about fifteen minutes to finally find the frisbee and bring it back.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The other days were just variations of the first. Moments that were simple, but precious, never planned. A walk to Chloe's house, where Beca tentatively stretched out her arm until she found Chloe's hand, lacing their fingers together. Her mother had asked her to stop by the market to buy lemon and green pepper. Chloe remembers walking away from Beca to go get the lemons, and when she returned, Beca was standing between the shelves of green and red peppers, with her phone in hands, as if she was taking a picture of them. Chloe convinced Beca to come in for dinner; on Tuesday, Chloe took her to the cafe in front of house 148 and told her about the colors she saw around the yellow walls where the piano sounded loudly, despite the busy avenue. Sometimes they stayed at SAB, sitting on the floor after rehearsal, talking about nothing and everything. There were moments silence fell between them, not because they had nothing to say, but because it was comforting. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It is too comfortable to sit beside Beca and her angelic blue aura, feeling the warmth exhale from her body in the almost nonexistent distance between them.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They always lose track of time. They always kiss. And all of the days start the same way, with the same question asked by Beca.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"What color am I today, color girl?" </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe always laughs, and her answer, too, is always the same. "Blue."</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She never mentions the times when—mostly after Beca closes her eyes and slowly approaches for a kiss—the blue almost turns to red. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Being next to Beca makes something bloom inside Chloe. And it's such a pure feeling, something so nice to feel, that Chloe finds herself waiting for the next time. It is impossible to avoid, and often Chloe finds herself wondering what will happen when they meet again, whether the kisses they will exchange will be gentle and slow like the day at the park, or hot and intense, like when they finished dinner at Chloe's house and went up to her room.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Only the faint memory of the moment causes Chloe to curl her toes and close her eyes tightly. The sounds Beca had made that night, when Chloe pulled her onto her lap and her lips found a specific spot on her neck that made her throw her head back and rock her hips forward, into Chloe's body. How their breaths were labored and Beca's cheeks were flushed when, reluctantly, Beca whispered that she should go. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was just a (heavy) make out session, but what catches Chloe is exactly the fact she didn't expect her day to end that way. And since then, it has been too much fun to challenge the unknown. To simply greet Beca, and spend the rest of the day in the hands of fate.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Today, however, is the first time they haveplans. Beca invited Chloe to have dinner in her apartment. Chloe agreed. Of course she did. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Although Beca doesn’t necessarily need to photograph and film the entire rehearsal, she usually stays until the end, sitting in the corner and out of sight of everyone. But inevitably, Chloe's gaze always looks for her blue aura, which is a giant contrast to the slightly rusty orange that spins around Jace Gumm all the time, and John's green aura. Chloe is used to Mark's silver, and Sam's—her other dance partner—dark pink doesn't bother her either. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But they have plans today, and Beca leaves as soon as she finishes her duties, leaving Chloe behind with Mark and the annoying auras. The rehearsal turns out to be shorter, and after John and Chloe fail once again in a specific step, Jace calls it a day and tells John to leave, but asks Chloe to stay.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And that's where insecurity comes at full force. Chloe can feel the tension exhaling from Mark's body, who keeps shaking one of his feet nervously. He approaches Chloe as she replaces the ballet shoes for her sneakers. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His voice is cautious when he asks, "Do you have a minute?" </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Sure." Chloe gets up, throwing her purse over her shoulder. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jace Gumm leaves the room in heavy steps. The absence of his rusty orange aura doesn't make anything to calm Chloe’s nerves down. She turns to face Mark, nails poking at the corner of her thumb. "I know you're not used to partnering, Chloe. I also know you have your own rhythm, and it's beautiful to watch you dance. But you need to understand the boys are fundamental parts of Giselle's story, and most importantly, of the ballet." </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe's eyes fall out to stare at her shoes, blinking several times to keep them from filling with tears that are so unwanted now. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"You guys have to find a rhythm together, you know?" Mark continues, gently touching Chloe's arm. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"He doesn't really like me, does he?" Chloe points her head to the door from which Jace left minutes ago.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"He's just not used to your rhythm, dear." Mark squeezes Chloe's arm, comforting her. "But I still think you're the best choice for Giselle. Just promise me you'll think about what I told you? Everything will be perfect.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe just agrees with a nod of her head, not sure if she believes him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">She leaves SAB with a fast-paced heart and too many thoughts that won’t stop coming. Of course Mark is right about what he said. Partnering had always been the one class Chloe found the hardest, mostly because she isn’t used to calculate both hers </span> <span class="s2">and</span> <span class="s1"> somebody else’s steps. She often loses patience with John and Sam when they don’t follow her steps, but it hadn’t crossed her mind that </span> <span class="s2">she</span> <span class="s1"> is the wrong one, letting herself be guided by the colors and forgetting that no one else can see them. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Normally, on days like this, Chloe would walk back home and stay in her bed for the rest of the day. But today she and Beca have plans. And through all the way to Beca's apartment, Chloe walks with her head down, trying to ignore the voices of the people around her and all the colors that come with them. Everything feels overwhelming.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Beca opens her apartment door, and the smile that appears on her lips—the kind of smile that brightens her entire face—is almost enough to make all the insecurities leave Chloe’s body. "Hey! You're a bit late."</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Oh, sorry, I ended up walking all the way here."</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Beca walks away from the door, letting Chloe in. "Really? It's a forty-minute walk."</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Yeah, I kind of needed to think a little bit." Chloe says in a sigh.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After closing the door, Beca turns to Chloe. "Dinner is almost ready! You can leave your purse on the couch." </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Thanks!” Chloe smiles. "The bathroom?" </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Oh, first door on the right!"</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe leaves her purse in the armchair and follows Beca’s instruction. She turns on the tap and throws some cold water on her face, closing her eyes tightly before wiping her face.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">When she opens the door to get out of the bathroom, ready to turn off her mind for a moment while chatting with Beca, Chloe notices a wall full of photographs. Of course she would come across one of those here, it's </span> <span class="s2"><em>Beca's</em> </span> <span class="s1">home. Chloe smiles as she observes each one of the pictures, marveling at Beca's talent with the camera. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">What catches Chloe's eyes is exactly what the photographs have in common: they all have a green or red element. Many of them were taken outdoors, containing trees in the background. A red bird about to fly from a branch. A group of children dressed in green for some artistic presentation in the street. A huge Christmas tree with red ornaments shining around it. Houses, flowers, red curtains in contrast with the blue sky. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A puzzle begins to come together inside Chloe's mind, even though she isn’t aware of it yet. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Leaving the pictures behind, she walks back to Beca, where she sits on a high bench, supporting her arms on the low island that separates the kitchen from the living room. Chloe inspires and sighs. "Hmm. It smells so good!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Thank you!" Beca smiles over her shoulders while picking up two plates from a shelf above the stove. "It's nothing fancy, though. Pasta with spinach and cheese sauce." </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“God, it sounds delicious!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe helps Beca set the table and Beca serves the food, and two glasses of white wine. They sit facing each other, their feet touching gently under the table. Chloe smiles.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So, how was rehearsal?” Beca asks, sipping her wine before grabbing more pasta with her fork. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ugh, it went terrible.” Beca arches an eyebrow. “The boys and I keep missing steps, and Mark told me it’s my fault. And I don’t know, I don’t like Jace Gumm’s aura very much. He seems annoyed whenever I’m around.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t worry about that, Chlo.” Beca reassures her. “He’s a perfectionist and ballet is literally his life. Pretty much like you.” She winks, getting a smile from Chloe in return. “I’m sure you guys will figure it out. You’ve got what, a couple months before the big day?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“One month, twenty days.” Chloe pauses, sipping her wine. “I’m nervous. It’s just kinda hard for me to dance with a partner, you know? I have my own rhythm.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Because of your synesthesia?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, yeah.” Chloe swallows her pasta before continuing. “Today was so mentally exhausting, I just wanted to turn my brain off for a while.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Beca releases an airy laugh. “I’d love to trade places with you if I could.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t think you would, Bec.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I definitely would!” Beca insists. “I think it would be awesome to see stuff human eyes usually can’t.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Stop saying it like it’s something out of this world!” Chloe shouts, voice louder than she intended. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry, I’m not putting it like that.” Beca’s hand finds Chloe’s on the table. “It’s just—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Different?” Beca nods faintly. “Well, yeah, I’ve been told it’s different. I’ve been hearing it since I was six. And I’ve told you it’s a curse sometimes.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I just don’t see how such a wonderful gift could be a curse.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Under Beca’s insistence, all the exhaustion presses onto Chloe’s chest and she sinks back into the chair. “My mother stayed in bed for half a year after my father died. The energy inside her room was so heavy it felt like there wasn’t any light inside, even when the sun was shining through the open windows. Everything was black. Do you have any idea how it felt to literally be able to </span> <span class="s2">see</span> <span class="s1"> my mother’s depression? When I also had to deal with my own feelings, and be there for my sister? I was fifteen.” Chloe wipes her mouth with a napkin and throws it inside the empty plate. “So yes, Beca, it</span> <span class="s2"> is</span> <span class="s1"> a curse sometimes.”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Watching the way Beca shifts uncomfortably in her chair before taking her and Chloe’s plates and walking to the kitchen makes Chloe’s heart ache. She never meant to say anything. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe stands, following Beca, and when Beca starts to apologize she quickly interrupts her. “No, I’m sorry, I just—“ And then her mind goes back to the day at the bar, when she pointed the colors in Beca’s drink and Beca’s face looked confused as she tilted her head to stare down at it. And to all the days after that—the red frisbee Beca took too long to find, even though Chloe could see it, and the day in the market with the green peppers. Beca’s photographs that always focus on two specific colors. Always green and red. Chloe swallows. The puzzle is complete. She reaches out to grab Beca’s hand. “You’re colorblind, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Beca seems to freeze in time, mouth opening multiple times only to close again. “I—how did you know?” Chloe starts to explain, only to be interrupted by Beca. “Wait, it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry I pressured you. I was just thinking about how it would feel to see the world like you do. I see things... differently, too and I just—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bec, it’s okay.” Chloe pulls at Beca’s hand, bringing her body closer and wrapping her arms around her, her next words muffled by dark curls. “I’m not mad at you.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They stay in a tight hug for a while. Chloe loves this kind of intimacy and the comfort it brings to feel Beca’s breath in her neck. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Beca pulls back, but doesn’t go away. Her arms move from Chloe’s back to lock around her neck. When she speaks, her voice sounds low and timid, and Chloe can tell she’s trying her hardest not to break eye contact. “You know... I’ve kinda been wanting to call you my girlfriend.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe gasps, a teasing smirk quickly replacing the surprise in her face. “Just kinda?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Their foreheads touch when Beca lowers her head in a shy laugh and Chloe brings her closer, even though there’s nowhere to go. “No, I really want to.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I want that, too.” Chloe gently strokes Beca’s cheek before pulling her into a kiss. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This kiss feels different. It’s slower, more intimate and they hold onto each other tighter than ever before, as if they’re afraid if they don’t, this moment will slip through their fingers like water. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Beca starts guiding Chloe backwards, Chloe doesn’t stop her. They pass through the table and their forgotten glasses of wine, stumbling onto the edge of Beca’s couch and laughing about it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe closes her eyes and forgets everything. Ballet masters, choreographies and missed steps. Her synesthesia, Beca’s color blindness, the colors she sees and the ones Beca doesn’t. None of it matters right now, and Chloe just lets Beca take control, until she’s feeling soft sheets against her naked back, only now realizing she lost her shirt along the way. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Beca’s hair fall around her face like a curtain, keeping them between what’s already done and what’s still just desire. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They look at each other for a while, the expression in Beca’s face making it clear it’s a moment she, just like Chloe, doesn’t want to forget. Dark blue and baby blue eyes, night falling for day. Chloe has never felt this close to any other person in the world.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then comes the one question she had been waiting to hear all day long, Beca’s breath ghosting against her lips. “What color am I now, color girl?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The answer is right there, but Chloe can’t answer right away, because there’s no sign of blue anymore. Everything turned to— “Red.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But Beca doesn’t stop, and the next question makes Chloe’s heart break a little, because she knows Beca has never seen this color before. “Is it beautiful?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">It’s hard to focus on anything with this amount of feelings going through her mind and heart, but Chloe takes her time to just admire the way Beca shines with a new aura. The red is so bright and powerful, and Chloe </span> <span class="s2">knows </span> <span class="s1">what it means, but it doesn’t scare her away this time. Just because she feels the way Beca touches her, like her body is the most precious thing in the world. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Most people would feel scared about seeing love so real and vivid in front of them. But Chloe isn’t, because there’s nothing to fear when </span> <span class="s2"> <em>Beca</em> </span> <span class="s1"> is love.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes.” she whispers, hands moving to the hem of Beca’s shirt. “It’s beautiful.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">***</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Chloe opens her eyes, the room is completely dark. The pillow smells like Beca, and Chloe can’t help but bury her face in it, a lazy smile in her lips as she remembers how Beca’s hand felt against her body, her mouth against hers, and mapping her neck, her breasts, her belly. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Warmth fills Chloe’s body from the inside out and she sighs contently, tapping on the space beside her on the bed only to find it empty.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She gets up and moves around Beca’s bedroom, looking for her discarded clothes. Chloe finds them folded on the nightstand, and puts on her panties and shirt, getting out of the bedroom to find Beca sitting on the couch with a paper in one of her hands, and a glass of white wine in the other. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, you.” Beca greets.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi,” Chloe sits beside Beca, shoving her legs over Beca’s and tilting her head down to peck her lips. “What you’ve got here?” She points to the paper. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, it’s... it’s silly, actually.” Beca stays quiet for a while, and Chloe gently strokes her forearm, patiently waiting for Beca to take her time. “This is how I found out I am color blind. I was five, I think, and I drew this heart but I didn’t have any red crayons to color it, so a girl from my class said I could borrow hers. She left the crayon on my table, but for me, there isn’t any difference between red and green. So I grabbed the green one. The girl made fun of me because of that for a whole month, and wrote this over my drawing.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe looks at the green-colored heart in the paper and can read the words “THEES is RED, but you can not see it bcus you are COLOR BLIND.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What a little bitch!” Chloe shouts, anger in her heart for how mean children can be.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But Beca just laughs. “I was more upset that she wrote over my drawing than I was at her words, to be honest. I didn’t really understand it back then.” Beca pauses and turns to look at Chloe, apparently trying to decide what to say next. “I think I just kept this drawing this whole time because I hoped I would be able to see it as it really is someday.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe takes the glass from Beca’s hand to take a sip, before asking, “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“When I was little, I thought it would go away, you know? That my color blindness was just temporary.” Beca explains. “That’s why I started taking pictures. Because I hoped one day, I would be able to see what everybody else sees.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There isn’t any treatments? Or, I don’t know, something you could try?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, not exactly treatments, but there is a way to adjust my vision or something. And I’ve been too scared to try and it end up not working.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think you should try it, baby.” Chloe gently caresses Beca’s head and tucks a misplaced curl behind her ear. “Maybe something wonderful will happen.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, but maybe it won’t, Chlo.” Beca sighs, tired, and kills what’s left of the wine before staring at the drawing again. She folds it. “I’m not sure I want this anymore.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can I keep it?” Chloe can see the surprise in Beca’s face as she hands her the folded paper. “Thank you.” She smiles, an idea starting to rise in the back of her mind. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s okay.” Beca gets up, offering her hand out to Chloe. “I think we should go back to bed.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe lets Beca pull her up, and follows her back to the bedroom, where she falls asleep between her girlfriend’s arms and dreams of all the colors she loves the most.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">***</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After the talk with Mark, Chloe goes for rehearsal feeling a little insecure. She gets to talk with John and Sam about finding a rhythm together, because the majority of steps are pretty simple and mixed with mimes but without the right rhythm, they look like they don’t know what they’re doing.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Chloe, for sure, knows what she’s doing.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Things easily fall into place after that, but the days seem to go faster when Chloe finally starts enjoying her new routine. The first day of rehearsals with New York City Ballet comes too quickly, and Chloe feels incredibly nervous. Although she knows all of her steps, the amount of people around makes it harder to focus.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They separate it in two days—the first day for Act I, second one for Act II. Stacie is on the first day. She’s playing Bathilde, and Chloe can’t tell if the looks she gets from her are because of the characters they play, or if it’s something else. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The second day is by far Chloe’s favorite one, mostly because she likes Act II the most, but also because Aubrey is there, playing the Queen of the Wilis. Chloe has always loved dancing with her best friend, and knowing Aubrey will be by her side on the most important day of her life, brings a soothing comfort to her soul. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Being extremely busy with rehearsals means Chloe only has one day to rest, which is Sunday. Tom invites her over for lunch, and she has a great time with him—just as she’s always had. They talk about Beca and Tom’s girl (Stephanie), and Chloe’s heart feels so big with happiness and the way she cares for him. She missed him and his apartment that smells like coffee more than she could admit. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She leaves to go to Beca’s. Chloe couldn’t spend any really good quality time with her girlfriend lately, but of course Beca understands. And meanwhile, the new colors Chloe gets to see shining around Beca’s shoulders are everything to her—the dark shade of purple when Beca is emotional, the light teal that exhales confidence whenever Beca talks about her job, rose when she’s happy, dark orange when she’s stressed. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Beca’s colors are so vibrant in a way Chloe has never seen before. It makes Chloe aware Beca is an intense person, with even more intense feelings, and the joy that fills Chloe’s chest for witnessing Beca as she beautifully paints her colors into Chloe’s world are almost overwhelming. So Chloe can only smile as she brings Beca’s body closer to her, wanting so badly to keep all those colors for herself. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The night before opening night is chaotic, to say the least. Chloe can’t sleep, her room feels incredibly big and she keeps turning in bed until Delphine knocks on her door and lays beside her. They fall asleep holding hands, something that hadn’t happened in years. But Chloe needed it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She doesn’t remember feeling this nervous ever before. In fact, Chloe doesn’t remember much about this morning—except the berries smoothie Delphine made her swallow earlier, arguing that Chloe shouldn’t go on stage with an empty stomach. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Did you get my pointes on Beca’s apartment?” Chloe asks.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yup!” Delphine hands her sister the pointe shoes, even though that wasn’t really what Chloe was worried about. She won’t even wear her normal pointe shoes tonight.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Everything’s alright there? Could you set everything up?” She questions again, not mentioning any details, because Delphine knows what she’s talking about.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah. Everything looks so beautiful, Chlo. I’m sure Bec will love it!” Delphine squeezes her shoulders. “But worry about that later. It’s your time to shine.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jace Gumm calls for Chloe, yelling that they only have five minutes left. Chloe takes a deep breath and stands, following his voice and finding him just beside the heavy curtains. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, you look beautiful!” He exclaims, moving closer to Chloe so he can grab her hands. His face turns serious before he speaks. “You have a mystery in your eyes, Chloe. There’s something hidden in those blue orbits that I can’t quite put together. It’s like you know a secret. I like that, so I chose you. And I know you’ll do great.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">And then he’s gone, yelling again. The gratitude settles into Chloe’s chest and stays until she </span>moves to the center of the stage, standing in position. She looks down at her pointe shoes, remembering the very first time she ever tried a pair. She was eleven, and there was excitement about what the future would bring, and the dream of being where she is today.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">On the other side of the curtain, people murmur and talk nonstop, making Chloe aware that’s </span> <span class="s2"> <em>really</em> </span> <span class="s1"> happening and there’s no turning back now. She’s about to dance at Lincoln Center for New York City Ballet. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The stage’s light grow darker. There are applauses. The curtain is opened and the music starts. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then Chloe is gone. She is now Giselle, a humble peasant girl who loves to dance, but can’t do so because of health issues.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe dances between the colors in a staged Autumn day filled with yellow and bright pink, twirling and jumping gracefully in happiness and hope. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The villagers arrive to celebrate the wine harvest, and they dance along with Giselle, only to be stopped by her mother, Berthe, who ends the celebration and warns Giselle about how dancing threatens her weak health.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John and Sam enter the stage—Albrecht and Hilarion dancing their way to their beloved Giselle. The three of them stop in a semicircle, Chloe in the center, as the two villagers fight for Giselle’s heart.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But Giselle is too enamored with Albrecht. She’s already made a choice. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hunting fanfares can be heard at distance and the Prince and his daughter Bathilde—Stacie—enter the stage. Bathilde quickly goes to Albrecht’s side, and Giselle declares her love for him. Hilarion finds out Albrecht is a nobleman, instead of a villager he told them he was, and Bathilde reveals they will soon marry. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Giselle falls into desperation, her body full of madness that causes her weak heart to stop beating. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe falls to the floor. Giselle dies in her mother’s arms. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The applauses are still loud when the curtains are closed and the scenario starts to change for Act II.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe quickly goes back to change her costumes—a ghostly white dress, and follows back to stand behind the stage, as she watches as the ballerinas beautifully dance, eight on the left, eight more on the right and Aubrey on the center. As the music grows creepier, they settle in the shadows. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Into the deep of a dark forest, Hilarion is lost in thought by Giselle’s grave. Chloe shows up. Hilarion thinks he sees a spectre of Giselle and follows her, but Giselle isn’t a simple peasant girl anymore—now she’s part of the Wilis, ghost brides who never got to their wedding day and now rise from their graves to kill any men that walks around the forest from midnight until the dawn. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Aubrey is Myrtha, the Queen of the Wilis. She calls her ghostly girls for a dance, and Hilarion, filled with their power, is thrown into the river, where he drowns. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A sound is heard around and the Wilis hide. Albrecht, ashamed and full of guilt, also goes to Giselle’s grave and Chloe shows up for him. He follows his loved Giselle’s spectre into the forest, and Queen Myrtha starts another dance. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Giselle sends Albrecht back to her graveside. The cross of her headstone diminishes the Wilis malign power, and causes Myrtha’s spectre to break. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now, the spotlights are fully focused on Chloe and John, as Giselle tries to prolong Albrecht’s life by dancing with him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The colors of Act II are way darker than the ones in Act I, and although Chloe’s not a fan of creepy tones, she absolute loves these ones. Incredibly dark shades of blue, red and violet dance along with them. Love and danger and fear. It’s beautiful. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Just as it seems Albrecht will dance until death, the first rays of aurora rise in the horizon. Giselle’s love for him saved his life. The Wilis must disappear, and so does Giselle. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe slowly disappears into the dawn, John stands by himself on the stage. The music stops and there’s silence for a while, as if the people who were watching need a moment to catch their breaths before applauding.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When they come, the whole cast goes to the center to greet the audience. The sound is overwhelming and Chloe doesn’t know where to look at. There are tears in her eyes, and her vision is blurry, but she catches Beca’s eyes amongst the crowd. There are tears there, too, and Chloe blows her a kiss, just as the curtain starts to close. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Everyone is laughing euphorically, and Chloe can’t believe they’ve made it. She hugs Aubrey, then John, Sam, even Stacie. Her heart feels like exploding inside her chest and she doesn’t remember being praised like this ever before. There are too many “you were amazing, Chloe!” as she walks back to change, and she thinks the words “thank you!”are almost worn out for how many times she says it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Beca finds her when she’s halfway changing. She collapses hard against Chloe’s body. Her voice waves a little. “It was so, so beautiful, baby.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe can only hold Beca tighter against her, lifting her girlfriend up a little bit, eyes closed as she breathes Beca in, mind back on her apartment, where Delphine’s set some things up for her earlier today. She turns her head so she can whisper in Beca’s ear, “I have a surprise for you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">***</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It takes Chloe some time to excuse herself back to Beca’s apartment. Too many people crowding around her to tell her how amazing she was on stage. Her mom gives her a long hug—the longest one Chloe ever remembers getting from her. Tom gives her a kiss on the cheek and some flowers. Delphine gives her a wink. Their little sign for good luck.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Beca takes the keys out of her purse and unlocks her apartment door. Chloe stands right behind her, legs slightly shaking and a knot in her stomach, making her feel nervous in a way she didn’t feel even when she was about to get on stage. They enter, Beca turns the lights on and stops, looking to her left. Chloe knows why she stopped, so she takes control of the situation and moves towards the small living room. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With the excuse of getting the pointe shoes Chloe had forgotten at Beca’s place, Delphine was able to organize some things to make Chloe’s surprise a little more beautiful. And it’s exactly the way Chloe wanted: all of Beca’s framed photographs are scattered around the living room, some on the couch, some on the floor, surrounded by balloons of many different colors. On the middle table there is a rectangular box wrapped in a rainbow paper. Chloe takes it, handing it to Beca. “Surprise!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Chlo... wow, what happened here?” She takes the box from Chloe’s hand and slowly opens it. Chloe notices her hands shake a bit. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I wanted to make something nice for you, and I couldn’t come because it was opening night. So I had to find an excuse for Delphine to come for me.” Chloe explains. Beca unwraps the box and is just about to open the envelope atop it, but Chloe stops her. “Oh, open the box first!” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Every cell of Chloe’s body are focused on Beca as the box reveals what took the biggest part of Chloe’s economies. Not that she cares. Beca looks confused for a second. “Aw, you got me sungl—“ And she stops mid-sentence, because she knows those </span> <span class="s2"> <em>aren’t</em> </span> <span class="s1"> sunglasses. They are correcting glasses. “Oh my god, Chlo... how did you get—“</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s a gift, Bec.” Chloe reassures her that it’s okay. She wanted to gift her girlfriend the correcting glasses, just as Beca gifts Chloe her colors every day.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Beca twirls the glasses between her fingers for a while, and it crosses Chloe’s mind that she’s bracing her mind and heart for what’s coming—the moment she will open her eyes to a different world.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><br/>The minute Beca puts the glasses on and her face expresses surprise, then disbelief, then happiness and then the tears come, Chloe knows they worked. She moves to hold Beca’s hand and feels her own tears running down her cheeks.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Beca cries as she takes the glasses off and puts them on again, and as she tells Chloe what colors are the balloons. Beca cries as she laughs, looking at the pictures she took herself. She cries as she holds onto Chloe for dear life, and Chloe feels her smile on the crook of her neck. Beca pulls back, and looks up at Chloe like this is the very first time she’s looking at her. She touches Chloe’s hair. “I’ve... never seen this color before.” Then she laughs through her tears once more, a hand flying to cover her mouth. “I had no idea people could have this hair color!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe joins her in the laugh. “Do you like it?” She makes a silly pose.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, it suits you! Makes your eyes pop.” Beca turns to face the framed photographs. “You know... I’ve always felt like my pictures subliminally tell a lot of who I am. The lens is my eye. Of course the colors that have always captivated me the most are the ones I can’t see, but now it’s like... they were just born to me. And it’s all thanks to you, Chlo.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe smiles, pecking Beca’s lips and grabbing the forgotten envelope from the middle table. Beca opens it, finding her green heart drawing. The only difference is that Chloe’s written all over the paper. Different colors for Beca’s different moods. “I hope you’re not mad at me for writing over your drawing.” She jokes.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Beca chuckles. “No, I—“ Beca’s arms circle Chloe’s neck. “I hope you never stop.” She gives Chloe a kiss. “These are all the colors you see coming from me?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Uh huh.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A sheepish smile plays on Beca’s lips. “So which one am I now, color girl?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chloe can just laugh through her tears, heart full with so many feelings. She’s painted her stupid colors over Beca’s precious ones, and because they are stubborn and moved by love, Chloe knows they will never stop. She absolutely loves how love loves.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Just like Giselle, Chloe dances with her loved one, their bodies swinging gently to the song of their love and their differences. But unlike Giselle, Chloe didn’t save Beca’s life. She just showed her a brand new world. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">No one could have ever imagined that the girl who sees too much would have fallen for the girl who sees too little, but, in Chloe’s opinion, not even the most meticulously made puzzle fits as perfectly as they do. Two different kinds of different, beautifully complementing each other. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And it will never stop to amaze Chloe how the most beautiful colors come from someone who spent her entire life unable to see them. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Her forehead gently touches Beca’s. “You’re all of them.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading!</p><p>I’m @snowydot on tumblr 💕</p></blockquote></div></div>
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